


Yearning

by Roman330



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Cheating, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive Behavior, Slow Burn, Stalking, Unhealthy Relationships, but not for a while
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 08:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30085929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roman330/pseuds/Roman330
Summary: All Yuri ever wanted was to be loved, was that too much to ask? Yuri was pushed away again and again, and he could always brush it off but Yuuri... Yuuri he wanted more than anything. Yuuri might not be perfect to the rest of the world, but he was perfect for Yuri, and Yuri would do anything to prove it to him.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin & Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin/Jean-Jacques Leroy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Yearning

**Author's Note:**

> This is the start of what will probably be the longest fic I've written so far. My goal is to have a new chapter every 1-2 weeks, and there should be ~10 chapters, depending on length. This is going to be a long, fucked up journey, but I promise that at the end everyone will be happier and healthier than they are at the start.

An active imagination. That’s what my grandfather had always said growing up. “Your mind is so full of wonder Yura, you’ll grow up to do great things. You’ll be an author, a musician, or even a dancer, like your mother.” He’d say it with a smile, beaming down at me like I was the best grandson that he could possibly ask for. I knew I wasn’t, I was a bad kid, even before things started to get bad. But when he’d talk to me like that I could pretend, just for a moment, that I’d lived up to everything he wanted, everything my parents wanted from me. 

I don’t remember when the voices first started any more than I remember when I first started breathing. There must have been a time where they weren’t there, filling the back of my mind with small words, but whatever that time was I can’t remember it. It started out innocently enough, hearing words when I’m alone, watching the shadows bend and form into different shapes as I lay in bed before sleep. It was fun in a way, it kept my mind occupied, and I was too young to know that it meant anything bad. 

I don’t remember when the voices started, but I do remember when my grandfather first noticed. He called it my imaginary friend, and would laugh when he heard me talking alone in my room. He said he wished that I had a sibling to keep me company, instead of having to make something up. I grimaced, other kids were annoying, and having one around me all the time would be torture. The only time I put up with other kids was on the ice, and that was only because I had to. 

My mother didn’t like it when I talked to myself. My grandfather might have seen it as a sign of imagination, but she just found it annoying. “Would you cut that out?” She’d shout through the door, “It’s bad enough that you talk my ears off, can you at least stop when you’re alone?” 

I didn’t stop, but I didn’t try very hard to stop either. Nothing made her happy when I did it, so I just started trying my best to do nothing around her, waiting out the days until the weekend, when I’d get to see my grandfather again. I read whatever books I’d managed to sneak home from the library over and over again, curled up quietly in my room doing my best not to make any noise. I knew that if I did I’d hear that voice booming out across the house again. Mama wasn’t all bad, sometimes she could be nice. She was the one who took me skating the first time, and she always used to like watching me on the ice, at least the first few times. 

My coach had taken a liking to me quickly, pulling me and my mother aside after only a few sessions. “Like a kid twice his age” is how he’d described me to my mother “He could be the next Victor Nikiforov, better than him even!” I didn’t know who that was, but from the way my coach talked he was important. I think the coach wanted my mom to be excited, but instead I just saw her face sink. 

“He looked just like the rest of them to me.” Her voice was thin, the tone she always used when she was getting ready to punish me for something. 

“No offence Mrs. Plisetsky, but your son is incredible, well above any of my other students.” 

“Do you think that puffing up his ego will help him improve?” She snapped at the coach, grabbing my hand tightly and yanking me away. It hurt, it always did when she grabbed my hand, but this time it was worse than usual. I could see black and blue marks already forming on my hand when we were driving back home. 

She left more of the marks on me at home. She was angry, and I didn’t know why. Hadn’t I done well? He was saying I was good, wasn’t he? She wouldn’t listen, and she didn’t stop until I locked myself in my room. She kept pounding on the door for a while, but I pushed my bed up against it, so I didn’t think she could get in. That was the first night I had an awake dream. I saw something knocking at the window, it was trying to get in. I hid in my closet, and I could hear it scuttling around the room. I fell asleep and had a real dream, one where I was sitting in the biggest arena in the country. I liked that one more than the nasty one I had before I fell asleep.

Mom never told me why she was mad, she didn’t say much of anything the rest of the week. She told me to pack extra big when I went to visit grandpa, because I was going to be there for a while. I was happy, but I tried my best not to show it. She didn’t hug me, or say goodbye, she just drove off after I took my bag out of the car, leaving me alone outside grandpa’s house. 

He was surprised to see me, I guess mom hadn’t called ahead and told him she was dropping me off. After he looked at me more he got really quiet, took me inside and put me in the bath. I heard him yelling into the phone while I was there, I’d never heard my grandpa yell so loud. I was worried that he was going to come after me, like mom always did when she was that angry, but instead he just helped me out of the bath, got me dressed and pulled me into a hug. He hugged me for a long time, and told me that I wouldn’t be seeing my mom anymore. I noticed after a while that he was crying, and I wasn’t sure why. I was happy that I’d be able to spend every day with him, he didn’t hurt me.

I kept skating, because my grandfather said I should never stop doing what made me happy. I was sad that I had to switch rinks, but my grandpa lived too far away from my old one, and he said that the new one was better anyways. I was scared for a while that he would get angry like mom did, but he always seemed happy for me when the coach told him how well I was doing. 

“Grandpa?” I asked him one day, looking up at him as we left practice.

“Yes Yura?” He smiled down at me, eyes filled with a special warmth they only had when he was looking at me.

“Why did mama get mad at me for skating well?” I had trouble saying the words. I’d been wanting to ask ever since it had happened, but I’d always been too nervous, worried that he’d get mad if I did. 

I saw his face soften, he slowed his pace, kneeling down to look me eye to eye. “Yura, you have a gift, you know that. Your mind, your body, these things are special. That’s because only you have them, and they let you do things nobody else could. There are going to be some people in this world who see you as a treasure, to be protected and cherished. Those are the people who truly love you. But there are others who will see what you have as a threat, or a way to get something for themselves. Those people just want to hurt you, take things from you.” 

“S-so mom is the second type?” I was unsure, but from the way my grandfather slowly nodded I knew I’d been right. 

“Exactly Yura, and she won’t be the only one. You’re talented, smart, and I bet you’ll grow up to be just as handsome as I am. She won’t be the last person who's jealous, so you better promise me that you’ll remember how wonderful you are.” He ruffled my hair, smiling broadly as he stood. 

“I promise grandpa.” I smiled back as we walked to the car. It had been such a simple promise to make, but everything seemed so simple back then, It was just me, my grandpa, and my skating, and that's all I really needed to be happy. I still had the awake dreams sometimes, and grandpa started to get a bit worried when he’d hear me yell out because something spooked me in the middle of the day, but it was alright. Even if they were scary it was only every once and a while.

I still remember the first time I saw him. Grandpa and I were squished onto the too small couch under a blanket watching a skating competition together. I never liked watching skating much, which the other kids at the rink always found strange. They all couldn’t get enough of it, they were always glued to the small TV at the rink, the one that was always showing and reshowing old programs from different skaters. 

Even if I didn’t like it very much, grandpa always made me watch some of the competitions each year. He said that it was good for me to see what the best in the world were doing, to see what my goals should be. The worst part of the competitions each year was Victor Nikiforov, the same guy who my coach had said I’d be like one day. Now that I knew who he was I decided for certain that I didn’t want to be like him. He was always so soft and prissy, always basking in the fame and attention, with his fancy outfits and too long hair. I was going to be better than he ever was, and I was going to do it without all the dumb stuff he had to do to get attention. 

The problem was, all the other skaters were so much worse than Victor that it didn’t even seem to matter who they were. They were all just dominos, lined up to fall before him so he could bask in the glory at the top of the podium. I might not have wanted to be Victor, but I wanted to be one of the losers who weren’t able to work hard enough to beat him even less. I couldn’t believe it when one of those losers took my breath away, and changed my life forever. 

I’d been excited to watch Yuuri perform, if only because when the announcers said his name I could almost pretend that it was me out there skating in front of a crowd that big, But from the moment he took to the ice, I knew that the name wasn’t what I should be paying attention to. He moved like nobody I’d ever seen before, it was like he was born to do this, like performing was the easiest thing in the world for him. Sure he messed up his jumps, but how could that matter when everything else was that beautiful? 

Yuuri got a medal, but if Victor had been at that competition he wouldn’t have. But even if he wasn’t good enough to beat Victor he was special in another way. He was what I wanted to be like, not Victor. I wanted to move like that, I wanted to make people feel what I felt when I watched him skate. And I wanted to do all that while beating Victor, showing everyone that I was the best skater in Russia. 

\---

After that first time, Yuuri became my sole goal, my one motivation. I wanted to be like him- better than him, and to do that I needed to know everything about him. I bought magazines, watched interviews, and even did my best to translate the ones that weren’t in Russian so I could learn about those. I knew everything about Yuuri, how he had a poodle named Victor, he lived in Detroit, and his best friend was a Thai skater named Phichit. The only part I didn’t like in the interviews were the bits where he’d gush over Victor, but most skaters seemed to adore the guy, so I couldn’t hold that against him. 

Eventually my grandfather started to notice all the posters and magazines in my room. He smiled, saying that he was glad that I finally seemed to take an interest in someone's skating other than my own. He told me that if I wanted any of those magazines I could always ask him for a few dollars to pick one up, and I got a lot more magazines after that. 

I remember the day where my career truly started. I had just left the ice, panting with exhaustion from the long practice. I always liked the feeling in my body after I worked hard for a day, the ache in my muscles always brought out a certain satisfaction, with the knowledge that I’d pushed myself right up to my limits. I’d gone down to only attending school a few days a week, because classes took up too much time for me to train properly. My grandfather had been angry when he’d heard at first, saying that if I wanted a job that I needed to study, but my coach convinced him that skating was the only work I’d need. 

My coach was always supportive of me, just like the last one had been. He always gave me great pieces of advice, and he had the connections to help me move up in the world. 

“I got you a spot at Yakov Feltsman’s ballet camp over the summer.” He said it matter of factly, like I was supposed to know who that was or something. He must have spotted my confusion because he immediately filled in “He’s the top coach in the country, he’s the guy who taught Victor Nikiforov.” 

I could only smile. Sure I hated Victor, but whoever coached him had to be the best, and this camp would be a chance to impress him, a chance to reach the top, to make my grandpa proud, and to finally have Yuuri see who I am. 

\---

Fifteen. That’s how long I have to wait before I get the opportunity to meet Yuuri for the first time. It was the Grand Prix Final, and I was forced to sit through endless boring, overwrought programs before I finally got a chance to watch my Yuuri perform. I’d been a fan for a while, that wasn’t really a secret to anyone who knew me, but the extent of it wasn’t something I usually advertised. 

For a while I thought I simply appreciated Yuuri as a skater, for the ability he had to convey beauty and emotion on the ice was absolutely breathtaking. But as I grew older I realized that it was more than that. So, so much more. Yuuri wasn’t just skating, he was baring his soul, and everyone else was just too stupid to see it. He wanted- needed someone who could understand what he did with each program, and I knew I could be that for him. 

His final performance was a disaster to most, but it’s honesty, the anguish it showed almost brought tears to my eyes. He- he was hurting. My Yuuri was in so much pain, and he didn’t have anyone who could help him. I felt something curl up in my gut, worry slowly filling the pit of my stomach. I closed my eyes, breathing in and out, if I caught it early nothing would happen. It didn’t help, the sickly warmth creeping its way through my veins, I looked down, eyes blank as I began to count, each number accompanied by a small stroke against my jacket, smoothing out the fibers that were loose or out of place. 

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 

“Yura”

5 - 6 - 7 - 8

“Yura!!”

9 - 10 - 11 

“YURA!” I gasped slightly as my coach shook me out of the haze, eyes glaring down at me. “This is no time for goofing off! We have places to be, da?” He grabbed my jacket tugging me along behind him as he set off down a hallway, following Victor closely. My breath hitched, the anxiety settling in my gut. The rest of the day was a blur. My mind just couldn’t catch up with the string of interviews, lectures, and introductions that my coach pulled me through. 

It felt like hours before I got a break, sneaking away from Yakov for a quick break from all the interactions. That’s when I saw him, and he was just as beautiful up close as he was in all the videos I’d seen. I watched him go into the bathroom and decided to follow. I wasn’t sure how I was going to approach him, but I knew I had to, this was an opportunity that I couldn’t miss. I stepped into the bathroom, and instantly felt my heart sink.

Yuuri was crying, sobbing desperately, each sound was like a knife through my heart. I froze, body tensing as I stood in the restroom. I should have known that he’d been upset- should have been ready, but I wasn’t. I dug my nails into my hand, sliding quickly into a stall, trying to slow my breathing as I heard Yuuri quietly stand and leave. That was my first encounter with him, just the sound of weeping and the fading scent I crept into his stall to capture. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed and want more chapters feel free to leave a comment as they really motivate me to get them written faster!


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